


In the Sun's Shadow

by srsly_yes



Series: Blood Brothers 'Verse [4]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Slash, Vampire!Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-21
Updated: 2009-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-07 13:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What effect does the sun and the longest day of the year have on Wilson?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Sun's Shadow

**Rating:** R for language. R to NC-17 for friction.  
**Java Warning:** Italian Roast with raw sugar = AU. Scary moments. A crackfic if you wish to view it that way.   
**Disclaimer:** Absolutely.  
**A/N:** This started out as a drabble in recognition of the summer solstice and quickly got out of hand. This is dedicated to all new and old fans of the Blood Brothers 'verse. Totally unnecessary to read any previous stories to understand this one.

 

 

.

 

Only one word came to House's mind so he spit it out, "Fuck."

His goddamned curiosity fucked him up again. Sitting on the rectangular slab, he squinted at the luminous face of his watch, and made out the time: Six o'clock in the evening, June 21st. Six more hours to go. He looked around the damp and lichen-streaked walls of the mausoleum, the background to Wilson's muffled shrieks coming from below him in the carved marble sarcophagus.

He pulled off the iPod ear buds and concentrated on removing the wrapping from another sandwich. He ripped a bite out of it, and mumbled as he chewed. "Fuck."

* * *

 

House couldn't say he wasn't warned. Wilson began preparing him in May. Told him he was going out-of-town. Broke the news gently with that old razzle-dazzle of his by placing a hand on House's upper arm and squeezing.

"Only three days. The 20th through the 22nd. I'll be back on the 23rd. I do this every year."

"You told Cuddy?" House already knew the answer.

"Yes. I submitted the request in January."

"The minion is always the last to know."

"What about your stalker persona?" Wilson's voice became brittle. "You're telling me in all the years we've known each other, you never noticed? Seriously?"

"No." House peered back with steady blue eyes.

A finger wagged in his face. "Oh, you're good. You're one hell of a fucking liar."

"I have no clue what you are talking abou —"

The last word was lost as Wilson crushed his mouth against his, arms holding him tight, as he owned House's breath, pulse, and erection. Their bodies locked together, and House surrendered to his passions and his vampire…

* * *

 

They were a tangle of limbs on the couch. Both extremely exhausted and content when House sarcastically muttered, "So give, Master. Throw your humble servant a crumb."

"Thought I fed you the whole damn loaf. Still hungry?"

"For now, just for answers."

Wilson ran his hand down House's chest and teased his lover's nipples and curiosity. "Ever since I began working with you at Plainsboro, every June, you rifle through my desk, check my calendars, cross-examine my admin, and steal my wallet. Now that we are a couple, you know all my deep, dark secrets." At this point Wilson good-naturedly bared his fangs, then continued, "You still can't put it all together?"

House thought. Wilson's vampirism was new to the mix. He'd only found out last September, but it was the means that brought them together. His blue eyes narrowed as he shrewdly guessed, "The summer solstice. Does this affect you or all vampir—?"

"—and we're off and running," Wilson answered wearily. "Yes, all. It's the best day of the year for humans to visit Transylvania."

"Where are you going, and why can't I come? What's gonna happen?" House rubbed Wilson's ever-enabling cock to make him talk, and heard an intake of breath.

"Stop," Wilson barely gasped out as his eyes began shooting silver sparks, "Stop and I'll tell you, unless you wanna…? It's your choice."

House regretfully stopped. He'd volunteered enough blood for now. He needed to wait….

Wilson reached for his pants on the coffee table and slipped them on as if covering up would help him talk and make House listen to reason—from past experience, it was a hit or miss assumption. He bare feet padded against the wooden floor as he paced back and forth.

"There's not much I can tell you. I can't remember much…" He began.

* * *

 

"Are we there yet?"

Passing houses and industrial parks, Wilson broke his silence. "Look around you, does any of this resemble a desolate cemetery? You win car bingo if it does."

Skin glistening with nearly a bottle of sunblock slathered on his skin, the lotion emphasized the pallor that had recently developed making him look even more ghostly. Wilson's eyes hid behind the near opaque black lenses of his sunglasses.

House couldn't stop staring at his loverlicious vamp.

"What?" Wilson asked.

"You look like a ghoul, Jimmy. Lucky thing we are connected, or I'd be checking the classifieds. See if anyone would be willing to trade a werewolf for a heliophobe."

"Vampire. And I tried to spare you, but would you listen? The sun will be brutal on my skin for the next couple of days." Wilson winced as the sunglasses slid down his greasy nose, and he pushed them back up with one of his glove-covered fingers.

Biting back a laugh, House stretched out the best he could while he took a catnap.

When he awoke it was night, the moon peeked through silver-tipped clouds in a Kodak negative sky, and the car crept along on a pitted, dirt road, the suspension making him rock and sway. He watched the scenery slowly pass by: Vine-covered and tree-draped crumbling tombs. The Volvo finally stopped at a fairly well-kept, gate enclosed mausoleum.

The clock on the dash displayed 11:09. He looked over at Wilson and almost pissed in his pants, "ghoul" was no longer a joke. The gloves and sunglasses had been shed, and the white liquid wiped off.

"Welcome to Camp Vamp Wilson. Home Sweet Eternal Home," Wilson announced. He reacted to House's silence by turning toward him.

"What?" Wilson asked in his most pleasant voice. Heavy eyebrows knitted together in concern over a jutting forehead and skull-like chiseled cheekbones. Glowing red eyes squinted quizzically at House from deep hollows.

"Have you looked at yourself lately?" House answered when he recovered his voice.

"Funny thing about the solstice, I have no reflection."

"Lucky you."

"Lucky _you._ It's not midnight yet. You wanna make out in the car before we go in?" Wilson smiled and bared his teeth. House could have sworn they grew two inches, the incisors four.

"No thanks. Have a headache, and I started my period."

Wilson snickered as he climbed out of the car and started collecting luggage and blankets from the back seat and trunk. "I warned you House."

"You sonofabitch, you didn't tell me that you would turn into Bela Lugosi's homely younger brother," House complained while following Wilson through the gates and into the stone building.

A jagged bayonet of lightening welcomed them and lit the summer sky.

"Oh ghouls just want to have fun." Wilson softly crooned and smiled his alligator smile. When he saw House blanch, the smoldering eyes cooled to umber, and he stepped back into the shadows to veil his features. The voice cracked, "I'm sorry, House. You and I are in for a long twenty-four hours."

The connection between them sparked and sizzled in the quiet emotion conveyed in Wilson's voice, and House's fear dropped away. He walked up to his soulmate and used Wilson's patented upper arm squeeze. "As long as we are in it together."

* * *

 

With only minutes to spare, Wilson moved at super speed and outfitted the interior of the small, granite building with the comforts of a man-cave: A lounge chair doubled for a cot. A sleeping bag, pillows, assorted blankets. A cooler full of water, soda, and beer, and another filled with fruit, sandwiches, and snacks. He arranged books on a small, folding table, and held them upright by bookending them with flashlights. When he finished, the assembly resembled a miniature pipe organ. There were candles, matches, assorted plastic containers and garbage bags. Everything that could possibly make a crypt cozy was provided—short of a mint for House's pillow, turndown room service, and a "Do Not Disturb" sign.

"You're safe, House. I would never let you come, otherwise. The place is deserted, plus there's a protection spell while I'm…indisposed, but take no chances and stay inside. I've staked this place out as my territory, so no other vampires or their minions are here. Just eat, sleep, read, listen to music, and ignore anything you might hear coming from the sarcophagus."

"What if I get tired of your rendition of _Der Ring des Nibelungen_, do you take requests?"

Pinching his lips together, Wilson ignored the wisecrack, and searched through the assorted backpacks and suitcases. He found what he was looking for, and tossed a stake at House. "If you see the lid move before midnight tomorrow, be prepared to use this on me, or run like hell."

House finally had enough. "What the fuck is going on?! This is not about the longest day of the year and you protecting yourself from a cosmic sunburn."

Wilson looked at his watch. "No, not entirely. This coincides with an ancient annual vampire rite. La Famiglia calls it, L'espiazione e Risurrezione, or Atonement and Resurrection, but every clan has their own version.

"The reason I _allowed_ you to come at all was your foolhardy interest in getting turned. What you'll hear me experiencing tonight is only a small fraction of what you would be exposed to if I agreed to embrace you."

"I knew I was getting to you." House crowed.

"House! That's not the point!" Wilson looked like he was ready to pull out his hair, from his head down to his pubes.

"I know. This is." House raised the stake in his hand.

Anxiously checking his watch, Wilson forced himself to calm down, "Look, I have no time for this. You're on your own for the next twenty-four hours." He took a tentative step forward, and House met him the rest of the way. Their hands caressed each other's bodies like lovers parting at a train station. Their lips brushed, not daring to get too intimate while Wilson's fangs were sprung.

Breaking off, Wilson pressed a bottle of Vicodin into House's hand. "It's possible you're gonna need these."

He moved quickly toward the stone coffin, slid back the lid effortlessly, and jumped in. House could make out Wilson composing himself, his hands folding over his chest as the cover snapped back in place on its own.

The room was eerily silent…like…a tomb, until the restless sky unleashed thunder that beat against the walls like a drum, and rivulets of rain entered through cracks in the old crumbling mortar. House stroked the stone coffin, wondering what the next twenty-four hours would bring, and if Wilson would ever look normal without the aid of Taub's plastic surgery skills. "Sleep tight, Wilson."

* * *

 

House couldn't sleep. The handful of hours until dawn was an eternity. Thunder and the trickle of water kept him up, not to mention the escalating whimpering and scratching from the immovable marble marvel a few feet away. It was only slightly less disconcerting than when his neighbors threw a party, except he did not have the pleasure of calling the cops.

Around four in the morning the rain and thunder tapered off, but he wished it hadn't. Wilson's periodic banshee-like screams cut through his body as clean as a knife. His leg the sounding board for the reverberating pain. The vampire-minion union had up until then eradicated his need for meds. House found dry-swallowing the tablets unfamiliar and difficult.

Leaning back on the cot, his mind wandered. Had Wilson meant he would need the Vicodin to help with the pain, or calm his nerves? A possible third option presented itself. He heard snuffling coming from under the iron door of the mausoleum, then scratching…and a blood-curdling, baying, howl. It sent shivers through the same nerves that had tingled with pain only minutes before.

House carefully got up as another wail join the first, and a high pitched yipping of a third, and a fourth. Bodies slammed against the bronze door. The hinges rattled a little louder with every pounding. Prickles capped the nerve endings along his skin. Wilson said there was a protection spell on the place? For what? Nosy ninety year-old caretakers? Certainly not demons.

Come to think of it, House realized, what did Wilson know? He was in some inhuman state buried inside of a rock. _Thanks, Jimmy._

While the chorus grew louder, he quietly rummaged through the cooler and found beef and cheddar sandwiches. Fear or not, he couldn't resist a bite before he peeled off the cheese and wrapped bits of it around his pills. When he had ten golden pellets, he limped to the entry and lined them up on the floor next to the opening at the bottom of the door. Easing his weight onto his left knee, House saw something wet and black with nostrils nudging at the bottom edge, searching for a bigger opening.

"Here, you hairy idiots," House growled under his breath as he pinged each miniature cheese ball through the slot with his thumb and index finger. "Sending you my very best, but don't look me up if you want more."

He waited and listened. Eventually, the Cujo family quieted. House checked the container. Wilson had given him a full prescription. He had enough for another round if they should wake up or come back.

At that moment, just as House calmed down, Wilson screamed, _"House!!!"_ the top of his lungs. Apparently, the connection came through clearer than any cell phone reception on the planet.

House's imagination was at full gallop. Why had Wilson given him a full-prescription for a one-day period? Had Wilson withheld information? Why did he give him the stake? Was Wilson going to return to him, or was he screaming in agony as his body disintegrated into primal goo? He hobbled to the sarcophagus and examined the lid. Was this some kind of test? Should he try to rescue Wilson? Thrumming his fingers against the smooth marble, House decided to wait.

Pulling the sleeping bag off of the lounge chair, he dragged it, the blankets and pillows over to the casket. Easing himself up, he lay on his back with his hands folded as he had seen his partner do.

This bed was colder and harder, but he definitely felt more at peace. He might be imagining, but he thought Wilson's shrieks had come down a decibel or two.

He always preferred lying in the same bed as his vampire, even if he had to resort to bunk beds.

* * *

 

And now, wiping the remaining crumbs from another sandwich from his sleeping bag and onto the floor, House stretched out on his side with his head propped up by his crooked arm, and tried to ignore the thumps and wails from inside the stone container. Only five more deadly hours to go.

The pain in his thigh was a dull ache. House shook the pill bottle, but refrained from popping the cap.

* * *

 

9:30 PM. The last of the sun's light had drained from the sky, and with it Wilson's terrifying shrieks and shrill screams. Yodeling moans were the main entertainment. No thunder, rain, or hairy monsters beating down the door. House waited with anticipation. Two-and-a-half more hours.

10:00 PM. Whimpers.

11:00 PM. Silence

Every minute to midnight felt like a year.

Twelve o'clock. Midnight.

House rolled off the lid as he heard a click. The stone top moved slowly. When there was a two-inch gap, Wilson called out, "House?"

"No, it's Cuddy, House is doing clinic hours."

"That'll be the day." With a grunt, Wilson shoved the lid enough to wedge out.

The distinctive Nosferatu features were gone, but Wilson looked pale and weak like a newly hatched chick or larva only a mother could love. Or House.

Fumbling on shaky legs but declining any assistance, Wilson climbed out of his stone cocoon, but lost his footing and fell against House. They held on to each other as they slid down to the ground. Each a little breathless and relieved to find the other in reasonably good health. A few well-placed kisses and they sat with the sides of their heads tilted toward each other.

"What happens next? Pack up and blow this palace?" asked House.

"It's midnight. Just where do you suggest we go?"

"A nice neighborhood like this must have a Bates Motel not too far away, or a hotel where hedge animals romp on the front lawn. I'm not particular."

"Okay. I remember passing a no-tell motel a few miles back." Wilson blinked, trying to focus his eyes. "We can return for all of this stuff tomorrow." They helped each other up and walked out with their arms around each other's waist.

House looked around for any evidence of the Hounds from Hell, but other than squishing a stray cheese ball, there were no paw prints in the dirt or trampled weeds.

Neither talked while Wilson put the car in reverse, turned the vehicle around, and jiggled their way down the road.

Eventually, House stirred and asked through a yawn, "So how did your day go?"

"Like a dream, House, and yours?"

House's chin was against his chest. He replied with a snore.

 

 

 

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